Sundays we come over to the house, everyone who has moved out, and have lunch together.
Upstairs are the boys’ rooms. The beds were the ones custom-made for the Greenmeadows house, the same ones we’d slept in since then.
It was a loft or an attic, my mother insisted, which is why the stairs had such narrow steps. But this "attic," curiously enough, had two big bedrooms as well as a wide hall. To those of us who actually inhabited these rooms, the curiosity was an annoyance
As we grew older and drifted farther and farther away from her grasp, defining our own lives outside of the house, my mother must have felt that she was losing us to friends, jobs, loves – forces beyond her control.